3. Aldrin
Chapter 3
Aldrin
I stare at the notches scratched into the wall opposite me. Seven. By the darkness, how could it have been only seven days since I was brought to this damned cell?
A guard slides open the compartment at the bottom of the door and pushes through a roll and a mug of water.
I narrow my eyes at the sight.
The drug in the water is having less of a dampening effect on my magic each day. Perhaps after a month in here my body will become acclimated to it, and I will have full access to my magic—if I am not dead by then.
I laugh at the ridiculousness of the thought. The sound peals out of me, half-choked and unhinged even to my own ears, leaving me panting. I have never been this fragile in my life.
The bread.
My eyes are drawn back to it. It could be poisoned too.
It was covered in blue mold yesterday. A poison of sorts.
I didn’t touch it then, but today? My resolve is slipping.
Hunger like I have never known before rakes through me, twisting my gut into burning knots. The pain is so intense that I cannot focus on anything else as the acid builds and scorches me from the inside.
It takes several tries for me to pull myself off the bed, but I finally approach the offering on shaking legs.My fingers grasp the mug first and I drink the water greedily, ignoring the now-familiar aftertaste. It eases my dry throat, but only marginally.
I pick up the bread roll and turn it over and over in my hands. There are blue specks all over it, but it isn’t as bad as the one from yesterday, which was mushy with great patches of furry mold.
I don’t have the willpower to go another entire day without food. Not after the extreme fasting of the last seven days. I scratch away the offending spots, then devour the bread, not wasting a crumb. I can’t even taste it anymore.
For a long time, I sit on the ground next to that empty mug and plate, blinking and trying to stay awake.
After what feels like an eternity, I wield enough air magic to lift the mug from the ground and scrape another mark into the wall, counting the days. It clatters to the ground as my power flees me. A single, pitiful drop is all that has returned.
I know I have made a mistake when my stomach growls loudly. It churns and churns until the cramps become unbearable. I vomit right here in the center of the room, again and again until there is nothing left to come up, but my body still heaves and pants. A fever runs through me and sweat prickles my skin.
I hate myself for my weakness. For giving in to yet another trap.
I must have fallen asleep, because I wake to icy water raining heavily onto my face. It is I who wins this round, because my skin is so hot that the coldness of the water is a blessing.
I lie there, mouth open, allowing what I can catch to slide down my throat. It has become an art form, holding on to the last clutches of sleep for long enough to drink. I couldn’t have managed it earlier, without this sheer level of fatigue.
Sleep takes me again and I wake to a piercing headache. Instead of a shower falling upon me, it is single, large droplets, falling upon the exact same spot rhythmically until it feels like a nail is being hammered into my head. I groggily wipe the water from my face and sit up. The water evaporates.
The magic in this place is completely fucked up. But I win here too, because the room is now washed clean. Silver linings.
The door of the cell crashes open and I register the stomps of heavy boots and curt words shared between guards, but I cannot see them. My eyes struggle to focus.
Rough hands pull me up from under my shoulders and I am dragged to my feet and out the door. I blink in the harsh white light as I am practically carried down a corridor. There is a significance here that I am not quite grasping.
“By the gods, he is heavy,” a guard grumbles.
A blast of hot air hits me as I am brought into a room with flickering, warm light. Crackling hits my ears and a smoky essence fills my nose. A fireplace. This room has a fireplace. That is nice.
I am deposited into a chair, my full weight slamming into it. My weak body lolls dangerously to the side until thick ropes of air catch me and strap me in. The receding footsteps tell me the guards are walking away. They shut the door behind them.
Two people remain in this room with me. I can hear their heartbeats and breaths and smell their unique scents. I cannot see beyond the vague impression of colors, and even that fades in and out. They don’t say anything for the longest time.
A masculine voice finally breaks the silence.“This has gone too far.”
“I agree,” a woman says. “We have waited for the bastard to crack under these conditions and it is clearly not going to happen.”
“I don’t like what this has turned me into.” The man’s voice is low, not for my ears. Do they forget I am fae? “I never thought I would have?—”
“A parent goes to extremes to fight for their child,” the woman cuts in. “It might not be right, but you have three daughters and all your people to think of. You are Lord Protector for a reason: as the first line of defense against another fae invasion.” There is a grunt in reply, and the woman continues. “We can’t question him in this state. It is time we changed tactics.”
I blink, then blink again. The room moves around me and those voices continue, but I no longer hear them.
I fall into a deep sleep like I haven’t experienced in almost a week. The oblivion that consumes me is the sweetest thing I have felt in the longest time.
A light slap to the face wakes me instead of that horrible water, and I find I prefer it.
“Drink.”
Wrinkled hands hold a chalice to my lips and I obey the sharp command.I drink as much as they will allow. The water is so pure and clean of poison, it tastes of utter bliss.
“Open your mouth,” she orders again, and a piece of warm, juicy chicken is placed between my lips. I am fed a generous serve, and the grease coats my insides and lifts some of the fog from my mind.
When I am brought back to my cell, I am placed straight into the bed, and I sleep and sleep. The abyss I fall into is so deep and dark that no dreams follow me there, but it is the curative I need. Nothing wakes me—no cruelly designed torment, no showers of water or slaps. My body rouses when it is ready.
I notice two things immediately: the shadows that creep from evening to night, meaning I slept for a full day and night, and the platter of food on the ground waiting for me.
It is like a mirage I don’t dare believe.
Slices of pink ham and two large chicken drumsticks. Wedges of roasted pumpkin, sauteed red onions, mushroom caps dripping with butter and peas. A bowl of green olives and dried tomatoes. Slices of fresh bread and an orange. There are two jugs, one of water and one of wine.
I descend on the food with abandon, not caring where they put the poison, because I know they will get it into me regardless of what I do.
When I am done, I etch another two scratches into the wall, then fall into bed again. I sleep for the entire night and awake to the protest of hinges as the cell door is opened.
Four guards waltz in and I go with them with resignation, walking on my own two feet. As much as I hate these little meetings with Edmund and Naomi, they are the only way I can get answers.
I am thrust into a different room today, though, empty except for a large wooden bath and a stool in the corner with clothes folded on it. I whip around to ask the guards what is going on, but the door is slammed behind me.
Steam rolls off the bath, carrying the strong perfume of lavender and sandalwood. A thick layer of bubbles floats on the water’s surface. I realize just how much I stink.
All that hot water calls to me. I swiftly peel off my clothes, stiff with dried sweat, and dip my toes into the water. It is bliss. I submerge completely and scrub the grit from myself. Heat envelops me and loosens the tension in every muscle.
For a moment, I forget everything. Where I am. Why I am here. The look on Keira’s face as she backed away from me in horror.
Before I am truly ready, I step out of the bath and stalk over to the clean clothes. They are simple—an emerald tunic with flowers embroidered into the hem and a pair of tight-fitting pants—but clean and soft. A luxury.
There is a brush and leather thong, and I make short work of removing the tangles from my hair and pulling it back. The last items are a mirror and razor blade, and I use the bathwater to remove the beard that has grown in the last week.
I finally feel like myself again.
The guards escort me back to that same study. Edmund and Naomi sit at the desk with another feast spread across it, but the sight doesn’t dazzle me this time. I take the seat opposite them and a belt of air wraps around my waist.
“Please, eat. Drink.” Edmund gestures with an open hand toward the slices of pork belly with crispy crackling and the jug of wine. There is a smug smile on his face, and I know I am missing something. It cannot be poisoned, because Naomi helps herself to the food and begins eating.
I give in, piling a generous serving on a plate and working my way through it in silence. They don’t say a single thing, but Edmund’s smirk grows.
“We have a special gift for you today. Something you have been asking for.”
My heart stops as my eyes flick up at him. The door opens behind me, and for a single, stupid moment, I expect Keira to walk through it.
“I’m sure you’d love to know how your people are faring, so we brought one of them here for you to see,” Edmund says.
Guards drag young Hawthorne into the room and dump him hard into a chair against the wall. His head lolls as though he doesn’t have the strength to hold it up by himself.
“Hawthorne!” Anguish bursts within me to see him in such a state, so similar to my own a few days ago.It is so much worse seeing it on another person. “You cruel bastard, Edmund!” I snarl, but don’t take my eyes off Hawthorne.
His bloodshot eyes roll open and drift aimlessly, until they focus on me and widen. There are deep shadows beneath them, and his usually high cheekbones jut even further out of his gaunt face. There is a sickly sheen to it, his skin more yellow than its usual gold. The topknot of his hair is badly matted and the shaved sides areovergrown.
His mouth opens, but no words come out. He cascades into a coughing fit from the attempt, and I know all too well of the dry, gravelly throat from severe dehydration.
I try to stand, to rush over to him, but my bindings only strengthen, holding the entire armchair down. “At least give him some of this damned food and water!”
Thin streams of magic float away from the Lord Protector, binding Hawthorne to the chair, plugging his ears and placing a gag over his mouth. The young man doesn’t even flinch. He is clearly used to this, but his eyes stay trained on me.
I turn back to Edmund and Naomi. “What have you done to him? Have you beaten him or cut him up?” I growl, the muscles in my shoulders rippling. If I had my magic, there would be a gale blowing in this room. “ANSWER ME!” I slam a fist on the table and the plates rattle.
“Oh, I would think you should know.” Naomi places an olive in her mouth. “We have treated him with the same hospitality as you…well, except for the extra care you have received over the last couple of days.” The old spider turns away from me. “I wonder, Edmund, if this fae boy now believes he has been suffering in isolation. That his king has indulged in comforts while he has starved and sat in his own filth. Even Aldrin’s hair is groomed today.”
So that is the game they are playing—sowing discord between me and my people. Making me sweat over it. They have no idea of the trials my band has followed me through. The sheer loyalty between us that runs in both directions.
I lean back in my seat and force myself to relax. “You will extend the same courtesies I have received in the last two days to the rest of my people.”
“Don’t worry, Aldrin. We have plans for your people that require them to stay alive…for now.” Edmund reaches across the table and pours wine into my goblet. “Drink up. There is no point in wasting wine because the fae behind you is suffering from dehydration.”
I grab the chalice and throw it at his head on a whim. It spins through the air almost faster than the eye can see, a streak of crimson splashing from it in an arc that is almost picturesque.
Edmund plucks the missile out of its trajectory with a tendril of magic and throws up an air shield to stop the splatter of wine from hitting him. It is satisfying when droplets hit his and Naomi’s faces anyway through the gaps in his magic.
“Now, now, Aldrin. There is no need to be rude,” Edmund chides in that casual tone that only stokes my fury and has me gritting my teeth. Gods, I wish I had dented his head.
“We aren’t here to speak about this fae, whatever his name is.” Naomi waves a dismissive hand in Hawthorne’s direction.
“Hawthorne,” I growl. “His fucking name is Hawthorne.”
“Regardless. I hear Keira told you all about our people’s customs around the pilgrimage. That you forced it out of her. I wonder, did she tell you much about our great hunts?”
I stare at the old spider, giving her nothing.
Keira differs vastly from her grandmother. For the hundredth time, I wonder why she hasn’t found me. Why she doesn’t fight for me. If I could get a few minutes to talk to her, I could clear up all the hurt and betrayal between us.
I will allow Naomi to speak. It may give me some of the information I need.
“You see,” she begins, “sometimes innocent fae wander into our realm through the gaps in the barrier between worlds, especially when it gets close to the alignment. Cú Sídhe, pixies, nymphs.”
“Sometimes goblins or sprites stumble through as well,” her son offers amicably.
“It is a death sentence in these lands, whether the fae has the intelligence to know it or not.” Naomi inspects her manicured nails. “We send specialized hunting parties to track them down and kill them. It is quite the sport. The meat is roasted and served at our banquets. The festivities are so grand that even the king travels to these far reaches of the kingdom to partake. We eat fae flesh to enrich our own magic. Grind their bones to powder for potions, consume their entrails and make relics from their pelts. We do this to your kind to steal their magic, perhaps even those from the spring realm.”
I force my fists to unclench, and it takes everything I have to stop my teeth from grinding. The black market for fae flesh has never ceased. They just lost access to us. Those horrendous practices are still deeply embedded in their culture.
The idea of pixies, sprites and nymphs being hunted, murdered and eaten churns my stomach. I can understand the killing of Cú Sídhe or some of the less intelligent goblin species that would attack humans like mindless beasts, but the others? The nymphs especially?
They would be lost and frightened in a foreign land. Those peaceful creatures would ask for help to return home, and they would beg for mercy while a horde of humans slaughtered them on a glorified hunt.
It is an atrocity. A crime humans should be held accountable for.
How hard would it be to toss those fae back through a portal, when they open them anyway for their pilgrims?
Rage boils through me, making every muscle whipcord tight, but I can’t show any of it.
“Do you know, wise High Priestess , that we keep cattle from the human realm in my lands?” I mock. “Sheep, pigs and cows. We eat their flesh and use their pelts for clothing. Does this offend you?”
Edmund raises his eyebrows and the beginning of another of those damned smirks forms on his lips. “Do you know who leads these hunting parties, Aldrin? Both of my oldest daughters. They excel at it. Keira and Caitlin are our best fae hunters. They each have killed many of your kind.” He reclines in his chair. “I wonder if Keira had met you in our realm whether you would have been added to her count of fae kills. Perhaps you wouldn’t even be the first high fae she has slaughtered.”
I recoil from those words. The blood rushes from my head and I collapse back into my seat.
What is the point of fighting for each other when we were doomed from the beginning? Keira and I will always be on opposite sides of this oldest war, and it feels impossible to bridge the growing ravine between us.
I may have kept my secrets from her, but she had her own that were just as nasty. Do I know her at all?
Keira partook in the poaching of fae. I have to come to terms with that fact. I should be angry. Murderous. I should rage and curse this entire damned family to the darkest realm, but I feel empty. A complete void of a man.
The memory of her attacking that band of Cú Sídhe as she tried to escape from me floods my mind.
My heart hammers so painfully that I fear it will shatter into a million pieces. Despair rises within me, so thick and bitter I swear I can taste it. This is a betrayal, to me and to my people, and I don’t know if I will ever forgive her for it.
The image of her crying over that Living Memory Scroll of a druid visiting a black market comes to mind, and I now wonder if her tears were born of guilt rather than empathy.
Naomi and Edmund watch my reaction closely, and there is a self-satisfied quirk to the old spider’s lips. I am giving them far too much, but I am too tired to care.
“I would hear of it from Keira’s lips.” The words tear from me. “I want to speak to her.”
Edmund narrows his eyes at me. “No.”
“Why are you keeping her from me?” I snap.
Naomi clacks her nails rapidly on the desk. “Has it occurred to you, Aldrin, that she doesn’t want to see you?”
“I find that difficult to believe. Even if she hates me, she will want the closure of hearing a confession from my own lips. Keira would be horrified at the conditions you have kept us in.”
“Why does she not come to you of her own accord? She knows where to find you.” Naomi spreads her arms wide, but her son shoots her a dark look. It is a lie, and that is all I need to know. How many other lies have they told me?
Edmund pins me with a feral glare like I am an enemy he has marked for death from across a battlefield. “Things are about to get very messy, so I implore you to answer my next question with honesty, for poor Hawthorne’s sake.”
I glance back to the crumpled, sleeping form of Hawthorne in his armchair and my blood runs cold.
“Are other fae planning to cross into this realm after you, to kidnap consorts for themselves? Is there a fae army planning an invasion?” Edmund’s eyes don’t break from mine. The roar and crackle of the fireplace intensifies as the flames flare up, bathing half his profile in red light and giving him a ghoulish cast. He has fire magic. I file that fact away in the back of my mind.
“There are no other fae coming. They wouldn’t dare,” I say very slowly, as though speaking to an idiot.
“But you did.” Edmund points a finger at me. “How many should we expect?”
“There is NO ONE coming for me, Edmund!” I yell, losing my temper.
He turns away. “Mother, have the guards drag young Hawthorne out of here and explain what they are going to do to him.” Edmund’s eyes flick back to me. “This is on you, Aldrin. You can stop this at any time.”
The High Priestess stalks around the table and out into the corridor. My heart hammers painfully as two guards enter the room. They grab Hawthorne, pull him from his seat and violently shake him awake.
“What are you going to do to him?” Panic ripples through me. “STOP! Whatever it is, do it to me instead!”
Hawthorne’s wide eyes dart from me to Edmund and back. There is a plea within them—as if I can do anything to save him.
I try to rise from my chair and fight against the bindings with physical strength. I call on the trickles of my magic to dispel Edmund’s air wield, not caring if I show my hand, but it is no use. He is too strong.
I thrash against my restraints as they drag Hawthorne out of the room, causing him to fall and stumble on leaden legs. When he disappears, he starts screaming. The hoarse desperation of it absolutely shatters me.
“NO! NO! NO! You can’t. Aldrin! No! Aldrin!”
I can’t get to him, despite how I hammer and claw at my bindings.
The slapping sound of a fist beating flesh hits my ears, followed by choking coughs. A stomach blow. I flinch. Guards grunt and call out to each other as Hawthorne resists them.
Horror churns through me. My sheer impotent helplessness threatens to undo me, here in front of this man. I was supposed to protect Hawthorne. To protect all my people.
“What are you going to do to him?” I growl at Edmund, reaching for a plate to throw at him right as he leans forward and drags it away. I grab his wrist and squeeze it in a bruising vise, bringing our faces close, but not close enough for me to strike him. “What the FUCK are you going to do to my man?”
Hawthorne continues to yell and beg, but his voice grows distant. He calls my name again and again. It makes my heart stop.
Edmund rips his hand back, then reclines in his chair. Satisfaction fills me at the red ring my grip left on his wrist.
He examines me, tapping a finger on his cheek, but there are cracks in his cool facade. “We’re going to torture your people one by one until you give us the information we need to safeguard our realm from the fae. Real torture, with hot irons and scalpels.”
The room tilts on its axis as the blood drains from my head. Nothing feels real. My whole body shakes as waves of shock crash over me again and again.
This cannot be happening.
There is absolutely nothing I can do to save my people. I cannot even lie, because it would be discovered soon enough. Sickening dread fills me, and I think I will vomit.
“I have told you nothing but truths!” I protest.
“Shame,” Edmund says. “Maybe you’ll feel differently when we show you the ruined husk of that boy tomorrow and pick another fae to work on. Maybe the pretty woman with purple hair?”
“I will kill you for this, Edmund! The gods save me, I will do it!” I scream at him, thrashing forward in my bindings like a wild animal, and he recoils. My scalp prickles where the tips of my crown of horns materializes through my flesh, and my fingernails become blackened claws.
“I will peel your skin from your flesh and grind your bones in the same way you do to my people! I will sell your damned corpse to whatever fae wants to eat it. You will not get away with this.” My clawed fingers run gashes through the top of his desk as though the wood is warm butter. “I know Keira, no matter what the fuck you say. She will never forgive you.”
Guards rush in, so many that they crowd the room. Edmund’s magic wraps around me with ropes of air, attempting to pin my arms to my sides and bind my legs.
Before I am rendered useless, I manage to punch one man in the face, and blood sprays from his broken nose. As he staggers backward, another guard attempts to lift me from the seat and I headbutt him.
I turn savage, snarling with my lips peeled back from my teeth.
I can’t get twin images out of my head: one of Hawthorne being dragged from this room with fear painted across his features, and another of him being sliced open while still alive.
A third foolish guard approaches, and I lift my bound legs and kick him in the gut, hearing ribs crack as he is thrown backward.
“Everyone GET BACK!” Edmund roars.
He wraps tendrils of magic around me until I am encased in a writhing cocoon, then he lifts me by all those strands, carrying me down the hallway. Sweat drips down his face from this small feat.
I hiss and spit curses at him. I call him weak and ignorant, because he has so much power and doesn’t know how to use it.
I am dumped onto the stone floor of my cell and fall into a heaving mess. I can’t function. Not when I know what they are doing to Hawthorne.
That boy is already damaged enough.
My brain shuts down every time I think of the pain he must be enduring. If his body is not broken from this, his mind will be. The generous, shy man I know and love will no longer open his heart so freely.
Hot tears run down my face as I shake uncontrollably with rage, shock and intense fear. I stare at the wall as day turns into night. I spend the starlit hours in a sleepless nightmare, plagued by everything my imagination can conjure up—and my imagination is vast.
My entire body is numb. I cannot find the will to move from a huddle on the floor, hugging my legs close to my chest, not even when the door opens. It will be another trial of torment that they have thought up for me.
“Aldrin?”
I don’t believe it at first. It must be an illusion conjured up by my heartsick brain.Or maybe my mind has finally broken. But I hear my name called by that soft, feminine voice that has always been music to my ears.
The one that I have craved all these days I have been locked in this cell.
“Aldrin.”
My eyes flick to the door, glancing up through the thick strands of hair that hang over my face.
Keira stands there, the image of perfection, of salvation, her doe eyes wide as they take me in.